


Close Quarters

by barbaXcarisi (barbaXbenson)



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:42:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22378156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbaXbenson/pseuds/barbaXcarisi
Summary: Carisi looked at his watch. “It’s getting kind of late. I was hopin’ we could go home soon.”Home. He said it so casually. Like they both actually lived there. “Well, I would love to go home, but alas, I’m not allowed.” Rafael took a sip of his scotch.“You know what I mean…”Rafael waved it away. “You can go home. Just have a uniform come babysit me. At least I can make them wait outside instead of sitting here sighing every thirty seconds.”“If only,” Carisi said wistfully. “Brass won’t pay for a uniform since we’re living together and all—”“We are not ‘living together.’ Good God.”
Relationships: Rafael Barba/Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 181





	Close Quarters

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to do a roommates fic since I've never done one before. Thanks as always to PBB for everything, especially that last line. :) 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

“Here we are.” Carisi swung open the apartment door, gesturing overdramatically at the space. “Home sweet home.” When he didn’t get a surly response, he realized he was alone. Stepping back out into the hallway, he shook his head at Barba, who had just now reached the landing. 

“No wonder you’re so damn skinny,” the counselor grumbled, holding onto the railing to catch his breath. 

“It’s only four flights. Besides, I carried your suitcase up. What’d you fill that thing with, bricks?”

“Unlike you, I don’t wear the same suit three days in a row.” 

Before Sonny could respond, the apartment door next to his opened a few inches. A short woman with tired eyes peeked out. “Sonny, I just got Miguel to sleep.” 

“Sorry, Mrs. Rodriguez,” Sonny dropped his voice to just above a whisper. “We’re going inside.” 

The woman nodded her thanks and went back inside. 

“They just had a baby,” Sonny explained, voice low, as he gestured for Rafael to step into his apartment. “They’ve had trouble getting him to sleep.” 

“Oh joy, a crying infant as the prize at the top of a million flights of stairs.” He stopped so abruptly inside the door that Sonny nearly ran into the back of him. “It’s a studio.”

“Uh, yeah.” Sonny stepped around him so he could pull the door closed. “I thought I mentioned that.” 

“No. You didn’t.” Rafael took in the apartment, if it could even be called that. The “kitchen” was a small two burner stove, sink, and refrigerator built up against the wall to the right. The main living space held a full bed—made neatly at least—tucked in the corner by the lone window, a brown leather loveseat, and a coffee table, both of which had seen better days. 

He assumed the doorway to his left was the bathroom, but he was afraid to look. 

“And will we be spooning?” He eyed the bed warily. 

“Oh, um, nah. The loveseat pulls out.” 

“Oh, fantastic.” 

Ignoring the sarcasm, Carisi walked over to a metal rack where several suits, dress shirts, and t-shirts were hanging. He pushed the hangers as far to the side as he could. “You can hang your clothes up here if you want. I assume you don’t want to leave your suits folded up.” 

“For once in your life you’ve assumed correctly.” Rafael grabbed his suitcase from where Carisi had left it by the door, hefting it up onto the sofa so that he could start unpacking. “I can’t believe I have to stay in this shoebox,” he grumbled after a few minutes of pulling suits from a suitcase that probably cost more than the monthly rent of the apartment they were standing in.

“We tried to put you up in a hotel.” It wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation. Barba had complained the entire drive up here. 

“In the roach motel you guys use for prostitution stings? No thank you.” 

“Judging by the way you dress, you could afford better. Why not get your own room?” He started pulling down t-shirts and folding them up so that Barba could use the hangers.

“I  _ tried. _ It’s apparently against some ridiculous NYPD policy for me to pay for my own safe house. Or room, I guess in this case.” 

“Well, since you also refused the safe house we offered you—”

“In  _ Queens. _ ” He said it as if they’d asked him to sleep in a dumpster. 

“So, it looks like you’re stuck with me, then.” He put the folded stack of t-shirts on the coffee table. 

“You know,” Barba said, his tone suddenly pleasant, “Aren’t you about due for a trip home? I’m sure your parents still have your room in Staten Island all fixed up and waiting for you. I’d be fine here on my own.”

“You’d rather have some inexperienced uniform outside the door to protect you rather than me? C’mon. Besides, I don’t trust you to keep my plant alive.” 

Rafael glanced at the potted plant on the window sill that surprisingly seemed to be thriving. He chose to ignore it, putting another jacket on a hanger. After a few minutes, he spoke again. “I don’t actually need protection, you know. This whole thing is just Olivia going overboard, as usual.”

“It’s not my call,” Sonny held up his hands. “But for what it’s worth, I think she’s right.” 

A chill went up his spine. It was easy enough, when Olivia was going on about him being in danger and needing protection, to chalk it up to her innate protectiveness, but for some reason, Carisi’s calm agreement made it seem all too plausible. 

“You really think that these threats are serious?”

Carisi shrugged, pulling a Brita pitcher from the refrigerator and pouring a glass. “These guys usually don’t take the time to figure out where you live if they don’t plan on doing something with that information.” He held up the pitcher in offering, but Barba shook his head. 

“You mean besides leaving me love notes?” He kept his tone light, but underneath the veneer he was unnerved that someone had slipped threats under his door more than once. Worse than the words themselves was the fact that they’d been hand delivered, meaning the person or persons responsible not only knew where he lived, but had managed to get into his building on multiple occasions. 

He hadn’t been home any of the times the notes had been dropped off, but that didn’t make it any less unsettling. 

Carisi seemed to see past his poker face. “We’ll catch this guy, Barba. Don’t worry.” 

“What I’m more worried about is the mattress that’s in that thing.” Having finished unpacking what needed to be hung up, he placed his suitcase on the floor and nodded toward the sofa. 

“Aw, it’s not too bad.” Carisi finished his glass of water and placed it in the sink. “But you can have my bed if you want. I can sleep on the pull out.” 

Rafael scoffed. “Yeah right, I don’t have any idea what’s taken place between those sheets, but I’d rather not sleep in them, thank you.” 

“Hey, they’re clean.” Sonny argued, but didn’t push it any further. He wasn’t going to put up too much of a fight over getting to sleep in his own bed. 

“Even so, I’ll take my chances with the sofabed.” 

Later that night, as the springs from the bed poked his spine through the thin mattress, Rafael regretted his choice. He thought about waking Carisi—who thankfully didn’t snore—and making him switch, but even he had a limit on his cruelty. 

The detective was, afterall, doing him a great favor letting him stay here. 

He’d have to get up an hour earlier than usual to make it to the office on time from all the way up here in Washington Heights, and he probably wouldn’t sleep a single minute on this ridiculously uncomfortable bed, but he could be in a roach motel in the heart of Times Square, thinking that every single thing he felt was a bed bug moving in to strike. 

So while things were bad, he supposed they could be worse. 

He just hoped he wouldn’t be stuck here long. He figured after a day or two of no one making an attempt on his life, Olivia and the DA would see that the threats were empty and allow him to go home. Not that home felt all that homey these days. 

He wondered again if he should move, but he’d been in his apartment for the better part of a decade and he really loved it there. No, he decided, he wouldn’t let some faceless miscreant run him out of his home. He would, however, speak with his landlord about increasing building security. 

With that decided, Rafael rolled over, determined to get a bit of sleep. The frame of the sofabed squeaked under the movement and Carisi snorted awake at the noise, but rolled over and immediately went back to sleep. 

Rafael should have taken the bed. He was sure Carisi could sleep anywhere. As a cop he’d had to have learned how to sleep in the bunk room or take cat naps on stakeouts. An uncomfortable sofabed would have been nothing to him. For Rafael, however, it was sure to mean days of an aching back, and possibly a trip to the chiropractor. 

If he was home and couldn’t sleep, he’d get up, brew some coffee and get some work done before heading into the office, no matter the hour, but here he couldn’t do any of those things. The cramped quarters guaranteed that he’d wake Carisi up, and he couldn’t go into the office without the detective as an escort. 

That left him with nothing to do but stare at the ceiling, willing morning to come. 

* * *

“I can turn on the seat warmer if you want,” Carisi offered when Rafael shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat for probably the dozenth time since they’d left Carisi’s apartment. “Maybe that will help with your muscles.” 

“Well, it might. Lord knows the tepid stream of water you call a shower didn’t help it at all.” 

“Hey, you got tepid? I got just a little warmer than ice.” Carisi looked over at him with a grin, Rafael only looked at him with contempt. 

“How are you so damn chipper in the morning when you don’t even own a coffee pot?” 

Rafael had nearly had a meltdown at the discovery. What grown adult didn’t have a coffee maker? Not even a French press, or at the very least, one of those horrid Keurig machines. Nothing. 

“Look, it’s not my fault we didn’t have time to go to the bodega.” 

Rafael ran a hand self consciously over his hair. “It’s not my fault your building is so old that my hair dryer blew a fuse.” 

The second he’d turned on the blow dryer that morning, there’d been a pop and then shouts of disapproval from the other apartments on the floor. 

“I got it!” Carisi had called out to the other tenants as he’d jogged down the stairs. Apparently this was a common occurrence and he knew exactly where the fuse box was. It was a relatively quick fix, but had put them behind schedule. 

“My hair dryer never blows the fuse,” Carisi bragged. 

“Probably because you paid five whole dollars for it.” 

“It got the job done, right?”

“Hardly.” Rafael patted his hair again, self conscious. He was glad he didn’t have court today.

“I can’t believe you even brought a hair dryer with you. We told you to pack essentials and you grabbed a hair dryer.” 

“I still have to look presentable, don’t I? Besides, your look isn’t necessarily wash and go.” He eyed Carisi’s hair, swooped to perfection. How he managed the look with such poor quality supplies, he didn’t know. 

“Yeah, but still, you coulda—”

“Carisi, I have not had my coffee yet.” It was a warning. 

This situation would have sucked under any circumstances, but not having any caffeine just exacerbated things. Normally, he’d have one or two cups of his home brew before leaving for the office. Then he’d grab a cup from the coffee cart to have on his way upstairs, where Carmen would have the pot in his office already brewing. 

His heart longed for that pot of coffee he knew would be waiting for him in his office. His office that was currently still so far away. “Could you possibly live any farther uptown?”

Carisi rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything. They were silent for a few blocks when suddenly Carisi whipped the SUV over to the curb. 

“What the—” Rafael didn’t have a chance to finish the question. Carisi had already hopped out and was making his way around the car to the coffee cart on the sidewalk. He made quick chit chat with the guy working the cart, handing over a few bills and coming away with two cups of coffee. 

“There,” he said, handing Rafael the cup as he climbed back in the car, putting his own cup in the center console. 

Rafael gulped the coffee, not caring that it singed his taste buds. Even if it was psychosomatic, the caffeine hummed through his veins and he immediately felt better. “Thank you,” he said finally, after half the cup was gone. 

“You’re welcome. Though it was mostly for my benefit.” 

Rafael didn’t even care about the dig, cradling his coffee cup lovingly. 

“But, I do think I’ve figured out a way to narrow down the suspect pool of who is after you.” 

This actually piqued Rafael’s interest. “How?”

Carisi looked over at him with a cocked eyebrow. “I need a list of people who’ve had to deal with you before you’ve had caffeine in the morning.” 

* * *

Carisi shifted in his seat, sighing and tapping his finger on the table between them. 

From across the booth, Rafael looked up from his casefile. “Bored, detective?” They’d been at Forlini’s for two hours, Rafael having taken over a booth in the back, his paperwork spread all over. He knew that Carisi was miserable, but the thought of going back up to that shoebox of an apartment made  _ him _ miserable, so here they were. 

“Nah, it’s just uh,” Carisi looked at his watch. “It’s getting kind of late. I was hopin’ we could go home soon.” 

Home. He said it so casually. Like they both actually lived there. “Well, I would love to go home, but alas, I’m not allowed.” Rafael took a sip of his scotch. 

“You know what I mean…” 

Rafael waved it away. “You can go home. Just have a uniform come babysit me. At least I can make them wait outside instead of sitting here sighing every thirty seconds.” 

“If only,” Carisi said wistfully. “Brass won’t pay for a uniform since we’re living together and all—”

“We are  _ not _ ‘living together.’ Good God.” 

Carisi ignored the interjection. “I’m already with you, so they aren’t paying twice for your protection.” 

“Good to know exactly what my life is worth.” Rafael sat back in the booth and gave Carisi a once over. The poor guy did look tired. “I still have a couple things to finish up, why don’t you order a drink? On me.”

“I’m on duty.” 

“Barely.”

“Barely counts. When we’re together, I’m on duty.” 

“So, let me get this straight.” Rafael’s brow furrowed. “You’re only not with me when you’re at the precinct and I’m in my office, which means you’re on duty, and then any other time you’re with me you’re also on duty. So you can’t drink? Ever?” 

“Basically. Until this threat is assessed as baseless or these people are caught.”

“And why did you agree to this?”

“Um, because I don’t want you to be murdered?”

Rafael huffed a small laugh. “Carisi, do not take this the wrong way, but if the situations were reversed I would not trade scotch for your life.”

The dimple in Carisi’s right cheek appeared as half of his mouth broke out in a grin. “I never had any doubts, Counselor.” 

“Alright, fine.” Rafael sighed, giving in and closing the case file. “Let’s go.” 

* * *

“Uh, Barba?” 

The door to the bathroom swung open, creating a triangle of light in the small living space where Rafael had been trying to find a comfortable position on the sofabed so that he could get some sleep before court in the morning. It seemed that Carisi wasn’t going to let that happen. 

“What?” He rolled over to face the bathroom door and the word died on his lips. Carisi was standing in the doorway, towel slung low around his hips, water droplets falling from the tips of his hair and rolling down his neck. His pale skin looked unbelievably smooth and Rafael had the sudden urge to run his fingers over it. He clenched his jaw instead. 

Carisi, oblivious to the effect his half naked, freshly showered body was having on Rafael, gestured back into the bathroom. “Do you really need all this stuff for your face? I mean, I assume they’re for your face. Is  _ visage _ French for face? Anyway, there’s like ten jars in here. And, as I’m pretty sure you’ve noticed, counter space in kinda limited.” 

At first, Rafael was a bit embarrassed, but then it turned into indignation. He hadn’t chosen this, and he’d already been forced to give up so many of the comforts of home. His skin care routine was one thing that he could bring with him. 

“Let the fact that I’ve taken up what little counter space you have serve as encouragement to find whoever the hell is threatening me, so that I can get out of here and go home.” He rolled back over, but he wasn’t finished, looking at Carisi over his shoulder. “Besides, if you ever decide to become an ADA, you’ll need wrinkle cream too.” 

Carisi huffed a sound somewhere between laughter and amazement, but went back into the bathroom, thankfully closing the door so that the light no longer lit up the room. Rafael closed his eyes, but behind the lids he only saw pale skin and water rolling over a fit torso. It didn’t help that the sound of Carisi’s hair dryer and then his electric toothbrush reminded him that he was just on the other side of the door. 

After a bit longer, Carisi stepped out of the bathroom, this time he was wearing sweatpants and nothing else. Rafael wondered if he’d be too obvious if he made a crack about Carisi not owning a shirt. He decided it would be. Instead he grumbled. “Thank God, maybe now you’ll stop making noise so that I can go to sleep.” 

“Almost, I promise.” Only Carisi could seem to feel bad about making noise in his own home. “I just gotta water Audrey.” 

“What? Who?” 

“Oh, my plant.” Carisi gestured toward the potted plant Rafael had seen in the window when he’d first arrived. 

“You named your plant Audrey?”

“Well, Audrey III actually. You know, like a play on Li—”

“Little Shop of Horrors, I know. I’m more surprised that  _ you _ know.” 

“What? Are you kiddin’?” Carisi smiled as he filled up a small watering can. “An alien plant that eats people? I ate that up as a kid. No pun intended.” 

Even in the relatively dark groom, Rafael could see Carisi’s dimples form in his cheeks as he grinned at him. 

“Well, if that thing comes alive in the night, I’m definitely getting the NYPD to pay for the Plaza.” 

Carisi chuckled as he finished up watering the plant. “If this thing comes alive in the night, we’ve got bigger problems than your sleeping arrangements.” 

“Maybe you do. I’ll just take off while it’s eating you.”

“What?” Carisi was offended. “Audrey wouldn’t eat me first. I have watered and nurtured and cared for her. She loves me.” 

“She? Audrey doesn’t actually have a—” Rafael cut himself off. “This is a really stupid conversation and I’m going to sleep.” 

Finally, with all the lights off and the both of them in bed, Rafael felt himself drifting off. But then Carisi’s voice came through the dark. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” 

“I don’t know...like this shuffling sound. Listen…” 

Rafael waited a beat, but all he heard was the sound of car horns and music from the street below. “I don’t hear anything.” Carisi was quiet and Rafael wondered if he’d just been talking in his sleep. 

He closed his eyes and then-

“Feed me, Barba.” Carisi said in his deepest possible voice.

“You are an idiot.” Rafael grumbled as Carisi cracked up at himself, but this time when he closed his eyes there was a smile on Rafael’s face. 

* * *

A week and a half went by with the police getting no closer to who had been sending Rafael threats, which meant he was still held hostage in Carisi’s tiny apartment. A few days in, though, they’d established a bit of a routine. Sonny had given up his bed, taking the sofa when, on the second day, Rafael had used his lunch break to get a massage and threatened to give Carisi the bill. The detective had also taken up showering at night so that Rafael could have the warmer water in the morning. He’d run to the bodega to get them coffee and egg and cheese sandwiches while Rafael showered and then used Sonny’s hairdryer to prevent any power outages. 

In the evenings, Rafael tried to wrap things up as early as he could, knowing that Carisi was bored out of his mind sitting on his office couch, playing games on his phone. Once back at Carisi’s apartment, they’d sit on the sofa, eating take out and watching the Great British Bake Off on Sonny’s laptop. 

It was hard for Rafael to admit, even to himself, that it wasn’t so bad. Anytime any of the squad or Carmen inquired as to how it was going, he made sure to complain heartily, but he was worried they could see through him, especially Carmen. 

It didn’t help that when Carisi arrived at his office to pick him up that night, he’d called “We’ve got a date with Mary Berry!” as a greeting. Rafael had purposely avoided eye contact with Carmen. 

“Oh, she has to get that in the oven or it’s not going to finish baking.” Rafael said around a mouthful of burrito, waving said burrito toward Sonny’s laptop that sat on the coffee table. 

“Nah, she’s got time.” Sonny bit into a wedge of quesadilla. 

“Are you crazy?”

“Barba, have you, in your entire life, ever baked a single thing?” 

“No, but how many of these stupid episodes have we watched? It’s going to be underbaked!”

Carisi went to argue, fully prepared to cite his many years of baking experience in comparison to Barba’s none, when his phone vibrated on the coffee table. He hit the spacebar on his laptop to pause the show—eliciting a huff from Barba—before picking up the phone and swiping at the screen. “Hey, Lieutenant.” 

Rafael chewed another bite of burrito, watching and listening as Carisi said “okay” a few times, then asked, “And they’re sure?” 

“Okay,” the detective repeated. “I’ll take care of it. Thanks, Lieu.” He ended the call and looked over at Rafael. “Well, it looks like you’re a free man.”

“Seriously?” 

“Yep. Uniform caught the kid sneaking into your building. He had another note.”

“Kid?” Of all the villains Rafael had imagined, ‘kid’ had never been a part of the equation. 

“Seventeen year old. Looks like he’s the son of Mark Timmons. You prosecuted him back in-- ” 

“I know who Mark Timmons is.” Rafael remembered the name of every single defendant he’d ever prosecuted, win or lose. In this case it had been a win, which, he assumed was the son’s problem with him. 

“Anyway,” Carisi continued. “Looks like he got your address off the internet. You should really think about moving.” 

“I’m not letting some teenager scare me out of the apartment I’ve lived in for eight years.” 

“Fine.” Carisi raised his hands, not willing to argue the point. “I’m sure you’re excited to get back there. If you get your stuff packed up I can take you home.” 

He’d been so elated that the person threatening him had been caught, Rafael hadn’t had a chance to think about how that meant he’d be leaving Carisi’s apartment, and with it, Carisi. 

“Oh, well,” he hedged. “I guess I could stay one more night and deal with moving me back home tomorrow.” 

“Are you sure? It’s not even that late and I can—” It was like a switch flipped. “Oh.” 

“I mean, I don’t have to.” Rafael worried that he’d made a huge, embarrassing miscalculation. “If you don’t want—”

“No, no. I want. I just...can’t believe that you do. I thought you hated me.” 

Rafael slid closer to him on the couch, putting his hand on the back of Carisi’s neck. “Let’s be clear. I absolutely, one hundred percent do hate this apartment. You? Not so much.” 

That night, no one slept on the sofa. 


End file.
